No Pity In Her Heart
by Defying.Expectations
Summary: AU. Sweeney accuses Nellie of being a witch. Toddvett/Sweenett.
1. I

**A/N: **Before we begin, two huge thank yous must be given to a pair of wonderful ladies without whom I would be utterly lost.

The first goes to Saime Joxxers, aka Robynne. Since you're clearly hanging around the ST fandom, chances are that you've already read her fan-fics. If you haven't, however (and I can't imagine why you wouldn't have), you most definitely should because she is a fantabulous writer. But read my story first. ;] In addition to being an awesome author, Robynne is also an amazingly thorough beta and an exceedingly kind, patient person. I'm not sure sometimes how she remains so patient with my various antics, woes, and temper tantrums, but I'm very grateful that she does. This story would not be what it now is without her.

Second thank you is to MrsRuebeusHagridDursley, aka Morgan, who is also an all-around awesome beta, writer (if you like RENT and/or manga/anime fic, be sure to check out her page. You will not regret it), and friend. Morgan is always willing to discuss musicals and/or my stories and/or the ridiculous antics of Sweeney and Nellie with me at all hours of the night. She is also very adept at dealing with my mood swings and has saved me from jumping off the cliff of writerly despair more times than I can count.

On with the story. I'm a bit nervous about sharing this one, as it's written in an objective PoV. It's something I've never tried before and something that isn't attempted very often, but, well, the story demanded to be written this way. I hope you enjoy.

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Two figures are in a bakehouse. They whip across the floor in a whirl of dancing feet and crooning words, bodies illuminated in oranges and whites by flames burning high in the open oven. The man drips with blood that is not his own and wears a smile. The woman's eyes are half-closed.

"So let's keep living it," a man sings.

"Just keep living it," she echoes him.

They dance nearer to the open oven.

"Really _living it_!" they sing together, but for the man, it is a shout. His hands, which rest on her waist, tighten as his arms push her away, lips curling and shattering the smile to reveal bared teeth –

"No!" shrieks the woman, and clutches his shirt. Her eyes are open all the way now.

The man's arm muscles and jaw clench further and then he yanks one arm from the woman – she gasps – and shoves closed the oven door, slamming her against it. The woman keens and struggles. The man stares at her.

"You lied to me," he says. The light from the oven's flames peer through the oven grate behind the woman's head and ripples across his face.

"I didn't, I didn't," she says, flailing against his grip, eyes shut. "The oven door, love, it's hot, please let me go – "

"You deserve pain," he tells her.

Her eyes fly open, watering and wide, as she breathes hard. "Kill me, then. Kill me like you killed her, if it'll make you feel better."

He snarls and touches the oven door's handle.

He goes still.

Then he touches her stomach.

She stares at his hand against her abdomen and does not move.

He snarls again and rips his hand away.

The woman blinks and the man is gone.

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**A/N:** Reviews are love.


	2. II

A woman huddles in the corner of a jail cell, skirts puddled around her, shivering. She plays with a loose bit of thread and looks up when a male voice barks "visitor" through the barred window of the cell door.

The man's face appears through the bars. His eyes are dark.

"Hello, love," says the woman. She stretches onto her back but keeps her face turned towards his. "I heard you fixed me up in these lodgings. How very considerate of you."

"I told you that you deserved pain," he growls.

She touches the back of her left arm and winces as her fingers find raw flesh. "I do believe you've already caused enough of that, dear. Why didn't you just kill me then and there, in the bakehouse?"

"There are things worse than death, Mrs. Lovett. I desired to give you a taste of your own medicine."

"Well, yours a rather unusual punishment, I've got to say. You realize they're pretty skeptical of your accusations, don't you? They don't really think I bewitched you into killing the customers for my pies. They'll let me out any day now, I think."

"My deceptive little vixen," he says with a smile and she shivers more. "You are lying again. That is not at all what they told me."

"Maybe they're lying to you," she says, continuing to shiver.

The smile stretches. "I'm afraid not, pet."

She sits up and presses her arms to her sides. "So what's the 'thing worse than death' in store for me, hmm? For me to just languish in this cell for all time until I rot?"

"Oh no, Mrs. Lovett. There are things worse than death, certainly, but that doesn't mean I don't eventually desire to see you burn."

She winds the string around her finger. The blood rushes from her skin and turns it white.

"You will languish for several months only – three, at the most. Enough time for the Londoners to hear of your necromancy and revile you for your actions, and enough time for you to begin to doubt your sanity. Then you will burn at the stake – as is the fate of all witches."

"Bastard," says the woman. She rises to her feet and strides to him, the string still bound to her forefinger. "You're as much to blame as me. I never forced you into killing those men, and I certainly never forced you into killing Lucy – "

His hand shoots through the bars and his fingers grapple at empty air. She stares at his hand, inches from her face.

"It's your fault," he says, breathing labored. "I never would have if I'd known who she was – if you hadn't lied."

Her upper lip curls. "Shouldn't you know what your own wife looks like?"

His arm jerks forward again, straining in her direction. She looks at it and does not flinch.

"You're a vile little she-devil," he says, "and you deserve this. You deserve having all of London hate you as they once hated me, hurl rotten food and angry words at you as you burn at the stake – "

"Go to hell, Mr. Todd," she says.

He smiles and her hands tighten into fists. "Not without taking you with me."


	3. III

"Y'know they haven't slaughtered a 'witch' in years, don't you?"

"No time like the present, my dear," he says with a cat-like stretch of his neck from where he stands on the other side of her cell door.

She peers up at him from where she sits in the corner. The loose thread is gone; today she scratches at the mortar in the walls with her nails. "Why d'you keep coming here, anyway? I'm out of your life now. I thought that's what you wanted."

"I want to make sure you're undergoing sufficient torment here."

"That's not what I think," she says, glancing at the dirt under her nails. She picks at the grime with the nails on her other hand and flicks it towards the opposite wall.

"Pray, tell me what you think."

The woman resumes scraping at the mortar. "I think you're concerned. You're checking to see if we're alright."

The man is pale. His lips press into a thin line. "We?"

"Yes," she says, and looks up at him, her fingers clawing at the grooves in the walls, "we."

"Poor, delusional Nellie," he whispers. He is still pale. "Seeing only what she wants to see rather than the truth."

A smile warps her mouth. "I may have my fantasies, Mr. Todd, but I live in reality. I see what's not real just as clearly as I see what is."

"Clearly," he drawls, leaning his pallid forehead against the barred window of her cell door, "the barrier between your fantasies and reality is crumbling."

She rubs more dirt from her nails. "Is it?"

"_We_ are not a reality."

"Did y'know that witches with child are never killed?" she says as she rises to her feet and begins to scratch off dirt at a higher location upon the wall.

The man's fingers curl around the bars and the woman's fingers lacerate the prison walls.

"No evidence that the kid'll come out as wicked as the woman, they tell me," she continues. "So they always wait to kill the witch until the child's born. Which means your prediction of me having three months at the most was quite off; I've got seven. So I s'pose I should thank you for giving me a few more months of life – "

"Of suffering," he hisses. His fingers are clenched around the bars and they are whiter than his face.

She twists her neck and looks at him with a smile. "Same thing, isn't it, my love?"

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**A/N: **-gently nudges her many silent readers towards the review button- =)


	4. IV

"Toby will get me out of here," the woman says the next time the man appears outside her cell door.

The man presses his face to the barred window, head tilted, saying nothing.

"He won't let you do this to me," says the woman from where she sits on her cot. The midday sun leaks through her cell's tiny window and casts a sickly yellow glow upon her skin. "He won't let me burn to death. He cares about me."

"As dearly as you care about him, I'm sure," says the man.

She flinches and draws in a hissing breath between her teeth. "He'll come save me. I know he will."

The man lifts an eyebrow. "You believe the boy whom you were ready to kill will be your rescuer? You think he still holds you in such high-esteem?"

"He'll love me no matter what lies you feed him," says the woman, then goes still. She shoots to her feet and the yellow glow falls from her skin to the floor. "You killed him, didn't you?"

"You have no faith in me, do you?"

"You murderous bastard – "

"Calm yourself," he says as she draws nearer with flushed cheeks and trembling hands. "The boy is alive as he ever was. Though I haven't seen him for three weeks."

"I've been here three weeks?" she whispers, but he does not answer this.

"He's fine. Works for Mrs. Mooney now."

She flinches again. "And you? You're still in my house?"

"It's _my_ house now, pet. But yes, that's right. I still keep up a most respectable business." She snorts and he raises an eyebrow, continuing, "My shop is busier than ever. News of your witchcraft spread fast, once it appeared in the papers. Now everyone wants to hear a firsthand account of what you were like from the innocent man whom you bewitched."

"And what're you doing with the bodies now, hmm? Can't really see _you_ chopping the men to bits and cooking them into pies."

"I'm shocked at the implication that I would continue your evil work." She snarls and shakes her head. He frowns. "I shave my customers, Mrs. Lovett, that is all. Without you in my house – "

"It's still _my_ house whether you like it or not, Todd."

" – your spell over me holds no longer. I've returned to the respectable barber I always was."

"How long're you going to keep this facade up, love?" the woman hisses, gripping the bars and leaning towards him. "How long d'you really think you're going to last without being able to butcher some fellow's throat? I know you, my darling. I know you can't go long without a little blood. It's the only way for you to pretend that you're still alive, that your whole life isn't a pretense – "

He jerks away from the bars, sneering, the muscles of his back balled with tension. "Good-_night_, Mrs. Lovett."


	5. V

The woman is lying on her cot and singing about bells in the Tower of Bray. A loose thread wiggles between her fingers, longer than her previous one. She twists her head towards her cell door as it swings open.

"Why, Mr. Todd," she says as the man steps inside. The guard closes the door. The man's dark eyes are on her as he sinks into the corner nearest to the door. "What an unpleasant surprise. I'm shocked that they're actually letting you inside my cell now. I mean, what if you violated me?"

"I don't think I could violate you if I tried, what with how you always jumped at me so," he says, rolling his eyes.

She grins at him, then brings her fingers to her lips, forehead rumpling. Folding her grin into a determined frown, she turns her eyes away from him and to the ceiling.

The man watches her.

"How's Johanna and Anthony?" she asks as she twirls the string.

His eyebrows pull together into a nearly continuous line. "What?"

"Your daughter and the sailor, love."

"I know who they are. I just don't know why you're asking."

"I want to know if they're okay. Is that not reason enough?"

"Witches don't care about the feelings of others."

She shoots into a sitting position and locks eyes with the man. "Don't give me that bullshit, Todd. You can feed all the lies you want to the prison guards and the citizens of London, but don't you _dare_ do it to me. You know damn well that I care about – them."

The man studies his cravat as he straightens and smoothes it. The woman's chest rises and falls with heavy, quick breaths.

"They're fine," he says.

She grips the loose string. "That's all I get to know?"

"They've gone off to live in Plymouth."

She raises an eyebrow. "Both of them?"

"Yes, Mrs. Lovett," he says, jerking on his cravat before letting his hands fall to his sides, "both of them."

"I thought you planned on killing the boy. I find it interesting that you had not one, but _two _moments of mercy the same night – "

"You have been shown no mercy, Mrs. Lovett," says the man, looking at her. "Yours is a fate of public torment and extended suffering, worse than anything I could have given that night – "

"Alright, yes, I know," she says, rolling her eyes. "This'll be worse for me in the end 'cause now I not only die, but I die while having people jeer and throw moldy fruit, on top of wasting away for months in prison. Very tragic conclusion to my life."

His eyes narrow.

"But what about the sailor?" she presses him. "Why didn't you kill him?"

"They're happy," he mutters, and for a moment the woman stops breathing.

Then the man rises to his feet, saying, "I must go. My shop needs to be open again in fifteen minutes."

"'Bye, love," she whispers long after he shuts the door.

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**A/N:** Just because I don't nudge you dear readers towards the review button every chapter doesn't mean I don't _want_ reviews . . . ;]


	6. VI

She is hurling into a bedpan, moonlight tickling her skin, when the man slips inside her prison cell.

"This is your fault," she snarls over the tin. He leans against the wall and cocks an eyebrow. "All your bloody fault, and don't you think I'm going to let you forget it."

"Yes," he drawls, "it's all my fault that you're a lying little demon."

"I wasn't referring to me being in prison," she says, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and putting the bedpan to the side. Heaving a sigh, she cuddles against the wall. "I mean the – "

Abrupt chokes cut her off. She again snatches the tin, its contents sloshing against the sides, and bows her head over it.

"Ahh," says the man. "You mean your current – predicament."

She coughs and snorts all at once, neck still curved towards the basin. "Yes, love," she says, scowling, "that's exactly what I mean."

He chuckles. "And you don't think you're just as much to blame?"

The woman retches again before she can answer. When her eyes meet his again, she is no longer scowling. Her eyes are wide. Dark.

"Please keep it," she whispers.

The man does not speak.

"I know it won't do any good to ask for my own life, and I won't. But this babe . . . it's never done nothing and it doesn't deserve my fate. They usually give the baby to the witch's family before she burns or hangs or whatever's my fate, and I just – I just want to be sure that someone'll be there to . . ."

Her fingers claw against the bedpan's sides. She stares at him and he stares at her.

"Please, love," she says. "Promise you'll keep it."

The man clears his throat and fixes his eyes on her left shoulder, its flesh still raw and red from when it was pressed against the oven door. "That – thing doesn't deserve to live."

"And you do?" she asks.

He meets her eyes. "No."

"Then promise me you'll both live on. For our – for the child's sake."

He stands up and leaves, but not before tossing over his shoulder, "Neither of you deserve that."

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**A/N:** Over 800 hits and only 21 reviews? Please, have pity on a starving writer and leave a scrap of feedback. I promise I don't bite. Well, not hard, anyway.


	7. VII

"Well, this is pleasant," says the man as the woman purges Newgate's meager rations from her stomach into a tin. He slides down the wall and settles himself on the floor, back hunched against the corner of the cell diagonally opposite from hers. "This is a new routine of yours, then?"

The woman glares up at him. Red lines snake through the whites of her eyes. "I didn't ask for an audience or commentary, Mr. Todd. Just go away. I can't deal with you right now on top of – "

She breaks off into a choke and vomits into the tin again. The man watches her and fiddles with something in his pocket.

"Never thought I could have a child," she rasps as she lifts her head, placing the tin on the ground beside her and resting her head against the wall. "Used to really bother me, it did. There was nothing I wanted more than to be a mother. Then when I finally get the chance, I don't even want it any longer . . ."

The man draws out a razor from his pocket. He flicks it open and reveals the blade.

The woman hisses and pushes herself closer to the wall. "Coward. You couldn't do it two months ago, but you'll do it now?"

"No time like the present, is there, Mrs. Lovett?" he replies, then shakes his head. "I'm not going to kill you."

"What're y'doing with that thing, then?" she spits.

He caresses the smooth side of the razor with his thumb, but keeps his eyes on hers. "You said you did not want the child."

"Well, no, not if this is the situation it's going to be born into, but what does that have to do with – "

Her eyes go wide.

"Oh no," she says, hands flying to her stomach. "No. Put that away."

He tilts his head. "I'm trying to help you."

She laughs and throws back her head, wincing as her skull slams into the wall. "Like hell you are. You're trying to help yourself. I get it now. You couldn't kill me that night 'cause your kid was inside me – "

"_Liar,"_ he spits with a spasm of his legs as he half-pushes himself to a standing position, then melts back to the ground, shaking.

" – and then you were horrified afterwards at your little moment of _weakness_. So you decided to rectify it by sending the police after me on claims of me being a witch. But you're still torn 'cause no matter what you might tell yourself, you don't want to see the only piece of you that's still alive wither away and die – "

He catapults to his feet and across the room in three strides, grasping the front of her dress and yanking her to her feet, placing the blade's tip at her belly. "I'll kill you both!"

She's breathing hard and her cheeks are flushed. She arches an eyebrow. "And you call _me_ the liar, love?"

He jerks the blade upward and she gasps as her dress splits in two, the fabric splicing cleanly down the middle and falling to either side to reveal her corset. Her breasts heave as he places his left hand – his knifeless hand – against her abdomen, palm flat, fingers splayed.

He stares at his hand and she stares at him.

"Why, Nellie?" he whispers.

"Why what?" she whispers back.

He doesn't reply.

Her throat flutters with a swallow, chest shuddering with breaths. "I – I never meant to hurt you . . ."

He remains silent, staring at her stomach. He curls his fingers against her, over her corset and the rise of her belly. Her throat ripples again and her fingers stretch out towards his face –

He twists away from her and turns to the opposite wall, back erect, hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"You're bleeding," she whispers, eyes fixed on his right hand, which crushes the blade between his fingers. She breathes in, then moves towards him, her fingers brushing the back of palm.

He snaps his hand away. "Don't touch me." He strides towards the cell door and exits.

The woman stands in a ripped dress and looks at the droplets of the man's blood lying on her prison cell floor, wet and warm and red.

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**A/N:** Virtual penny for your thoughts? =)


	8. VIII

"I thought you were never coming back," she whispers upon his next arrival. She scoots into a sitting position, nestling into a corner untouched by moonlight as he slinks down to the floor at the opposite corner.

"I will torment you until your death, Mrs. Lovett."

She gives a mirthless laugh and says, "It's been a month since you last stopped by."

He tilts his head. "How do you keep track of the time?"

She points at the wall above her head. "Decided to use the grime on these here walls to my advantage. Every time I see the sun rise outside that little window, I scratch a tally mark in the dirt. I've scratched in thirty-two since you last saw me."

He bends an eyebrow. "Quite resourceful of you."

She lifts her chin, casting her face into moonlight, and its beams dance in her hair. "I refuse to lose all sense of time and go mad."

"And you don't think you already are?"

Her lips quirk. "Well – madd_er_, then."

His mouth curls upward before he sharply presses it into a frown.

"How've you been, love?" she questions.

He rolls his eyes. "As if you care."

"Don't do this to me, Sweeney," she says, her voice low. "You know I do."

He rises to his feet and moves to her window, bathing himself in the moon's beams, covering up the light that was upon her and siphoning the glow from her skin. He scowls out at the barred view of the world. "Fine."

"Business doing well?"

"Yes."

"And you're making sure to eat and get enough sleep?"

He rolls his eyes again. "Yes."

"Well," she mumbles, "that's good."

He turns to face her. She peers at him from her black corner, huddled on one side, body curled around her round stomach like a mother fox nursing its young. The whites of her eyes gleam in the dark.

"Why do you care?" he questions.

Her muscles tighten. She tucks further into herself, arms securing her abdomen to her form. "I told you to stop that. Stop pretending as though you think I don't give a damn when you know perfectly well that I do – "

"I'm not pretending that you don't care. I'm asking why you do."

"Fool," she murmurs. "You still don't get it?" She stretches slowly to her feet; her belly is noticeably swollen, and the additional weight drags her down. The man's back is to the moonlight, blocking its beams and throwing his face into shadows. "After all this time, after all I've done, you _still_ don't get it?"

She totters towards him, not stopping until they are less than a foot apart. He presses his lips together and makes to step around her, but she puts a hand against his chest to stop him, fisting his shirt in her fingers.

"I love you," she says.

He throws her hand from him with a hiss. _"Love?"_ he spits. "You don't know the meaning of the word. You don't lie to someone you love, you don't use them to merely achieve your own ends, or betray them – "

She swallows but does not break their gaze. "Loving someone doesn't mean you don't make mistakes."

"'Mistakes'?" He snorts and clenches his hands inside his pockets. "That's your word for what you did to her? What you did to me?"

"And you think you're guiltless here too?" She takes a step forward; he takes a matching one backwards and hits the wall, head smacking against and obscuring the barred window, preventing all moonlight from entrance. "You think you didn't lie and use and betray me too?"

"I don't hide under the pretense that I did it for love," he sneers. "Unlike you, I know what the word truly means – "

"Yes, and it's very clear that love _truly_ means butchering countless men with the stupid hope that their blood loss would pour life back into your precious wife, nevermind that she was already dead – "

"She wasn't dead then," he hisses on a long breath that draws his body to its full height, "and if you hadn't lied, she would still be alive – "

"Her spirit was dead, Mr. Todd – what you loved was dead. You can deny it all you want, but the woman you loved was long gone, and she would've never cared about a man who killed others for 'her' sake – "

His arm jerks into the air, palm wide, fingers splayed, and she squeezes her eyes shut, hands flying to her stomach – but he moves no more than that.

The man's arm lowers and the woman's eyes open.

"We both did stupid things in the name of what we loved," she whispers into the unlit silence, and the man stands and stares and does not move. "We're a perfect match."

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**A/N:** Reviews are love, now and forever.


	9. IX

"You're back again," she says without expression as he enters. She is sprawled on her cot, one arm dangling over the side, the other flung across her stomach. Moonlight spills over her features.

"I don't know why you continue to be surprised." He sinks into his usual corner. "I told you I want to ensure of your unhappiness here."

"Well," says the woman, "let's see. I haven't bathed properly in ages; ever since my hanging date was decided I hear folks jeering and yelling gleefully outside my window each day; my back's in permanent distress from this hard cot; I'm bored out of my mind what with not having anything to do 'sides from lie here; I receive two meals a day that're barely enough for one person, nevermind that I'm currently feeding two – yes, love, I'd say I'm sufficiently unhappy. Satisfied?"

"Yes," says the man.

"Good. Then why don't you leave?"

"Now now, Mrs. Lovett. There's no need to be rude."

She snorts. "Yes, you've always been the epitome of politeness – "

She breaks off with a gasp.

"What?" he asks immediately, hurtling to his feet and then sitting back down in practically one motion, a scowl carving its way onto his face.

Her lips lift in a smile. "Nothing. Everything's fine." She strokes her belly. "Startled me, that's all. Still not used to having someone kick around inside me."

The man's scowl etches deeper into his face as he turns his gaze to the window.

"Surprisingly strong little fellow," she murmurs, bringing her other hand to rest upon her stomach as well, closing her eyes. "Wonder if I'll get to see him before the hanging."

The man's eyes rove back to hers, eyebrows drawn. "Him?"

"Well, 'course I can't know for sure. But I'll bet you anything we've got a little boy."

He stands over her in an instant. His hand snaps to her shoulder and her eyes fly open. "Haven't I made myself clear, Mrs. Lovett? There is no _we_."

Her neutral expression does not flicker. "I know, love. But you can't pretend there never was."

His fingers still locked around her shoulder, she sits up and leans her back against the wall. The fabric of her dress strains to cover her stomach nowadays. The man stares at it.

"You can touch it, if you like," she tells him, following his gaze. "It won't hurt you, I promise."

His hand trails from her shoulder, down the length of her arm, along to her abdomen.

He goes still.

"D'you feel him?" the woman asks in a whisper.

He nods, eyes drifting shut. "Yes."

A silent heartbeat. The man's eyes remain closed and the woman's eyes remain on the man. Both of their hands rest upon her stomach.

Then without warning the woman's hand sprints from her stomach to his neck and she jerks him towards her, pressing a bruising kiss to his lips.

She pulls back just as suddenly, mouth falling into a mute gasp and hand darting to her chest, fingers curling against her heart.

The man's eyes are open, hard and dark and reflecting not a trace of the moonlight streaming upon his back. Steady on hers.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she babbles, retreating into herself, "don't know what came over me, I didn't mean to do that, really, Mr. Todd, I'm sorry – "

He imprisons the rest of her words in her mouth by capturing her lips in his. His left hand winds around to the base of her skull, fingers melding into her curls. His other hand remains on her abdomen; it crawls, trembling, across her clothed flesh, until it finds and clutches at her fingers.

The woman is still for a moment, then she grasps his cravat and yanks at it, bringing him closer, and the man half-falls and half-lowers himself upon the cot on top of her, the hand in her hair untangling itself to map its way down her spine and unlace the fastenings of her dress. Sliding down from the wall to lie upon the cot, the woman sheds him of his clothes and drapes the skin of his neck with kisses and words meant for no ears other than his.

The moon's beams do not stretch out far enough from the window to bathe their skin. Its light captures only an occasional movement, glints only for a moment against sweat, witnesses only sporadic gasps or moans.

Darkness prevails over the moonlight. Veils them in shadows and veils them from the world.

"This changes nothing, you know."

The man and the woman rest upon the cot now. The woman lies cuddled against his side with her head over his heart; the man lies straight with one arm looped around her waist and his hand over her belly. Their legs are tangled and their bodies are bare. Their clutched fingers loll on the side of the cot.

At the man's words, the woman lifts her head from his chest and stares down at him. The moonlight catches in her hair and drains a little of its red color.

"This changes nothing," the man says again, not looking at her. "You're still going to die in three months time and I still don't love you and – "

"Dammit, Todd," she snarls. Her body rockets up into a sitting position, causing his arm to drop from her waist and their clutched fingers to separate. He looks at her, expression rigid, gaze dark. "I know, alright? I know I'm going to die and I know you don't give a shit about me – "

Her voice breaks. She flops back down beside him and shields her face against his shoulder. "Can't you just let me live in my fantasies for a few more moments?"

Her body shudders as she fights back sobs.

The man is still.

"Please," she whispers into his skin. "Just let me delude myself a little longer."

The man says nothing as he enfolds her in his arms.

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**A/N: **Over fifty reviews and we're not even ten chapters in? =D This, dear readers, is a personal victory. Thank you all so, so much for taking the time to review. It truly means a lot.

That said, this story also has nearly 2,000 total hits (!), which means that many of you have been silent thus far. Even if you've never reviewed before, please consider dropping a quick word about this chapter. Now more than ever, I crave feedback (aka, when there is sex/violence/something more 'edgy,' Anna gets super anxious and becomes a feedback whore xD).

Seriously though . . . make a starving writer happy. Leave a review. It, and you, will be appreciated, no matter whether or not you liked this chapter.


	10. X

The man and the woman sit in opposite corners as the sun pokes through the gray mid-winter clouds and the barred window. Both the man and the woman glare at the floor. Both are silent.

"Why aren't you talking?" the man eventually growls.

The woman's laugh is harsh. "Well, 's'cuse me for not knowing what to say. It's not as though last time we saw each other you fucked me" – his shoulders tighten – "and haven't been by to see me since, letting two whole months go by – "

"I didn't think you'd want to see me," he mutters.

"And I think you're an idiot," she retorts. She frowns at the floor as she scratches at its grime. "What am I s'posed to say, love?"

He puckers his hands into fists. "I don't know."

"I mean, I can talk, if you really want me to. I can talk 'bout how miserable I am in here. Or I could talk 'bout how our child – " his muscles clench further and she snorts " – sorry, I forgot, you like to call it _the thing_ – keeps on growing. Or I could talk 'bout how I've got less than a month to live now, since the babe's going to be born in a matter of weeks now – "

"Just – be quiet," says the man, covering his face with one hand.

She peers at him with one raised eyebrow, nails still tracing against the ground. "So now you _don't_ want me to talk?"

"No."

"Not going to have sex with me today, I take it?"

He grits his teeth as additional tension mounts in his muscles. _"No."_

"So we're not going to fuck, talk, or even look at each other today," says the woman, nodding her head as she rolls her eyes. "Great. Sounds like we have an excellent hour ahead of us. So why're you here, love? What do you want?"

He removes his hand from his face and she shudders as his eyes smash into hers. "I don't know, Nellie."

She studies him for a moment. Then, with effort, she lifts herself to her feet and meanders over to him, her stomach preceding her. When she is less than a foot away, she lowers herself to her knees. She lets three heartbeats pass, then takes one of his hands in hers and settles it against her abdomen.

"You're not going to trick me using this method again, pet," says the man, his gaze on his hand.

"I'm not trying to trick you, love," she says. "I wasn't last time either."

His brow furrows and his fingers tighten around her belly. "I know."

She places her hand over his and laces their fingers together and it isn't until at least an hour has passed that he pulls away.

* * *

**A/N:** Umm. Happy Christmas? xD

Anyway, you girls (. . . I'm assuming you're all girls. Please correct me if I'm wrong!) are awesome. The last chapter of this fic has both less hits AND more reviews than any other chapter so far. Thank you so much for hearing a starving writer's pleas. It's made me incredibly happy. So, if you want to keep me happy . . . you know what to do now. ;]

Only one more chapter to go . . . =s


	11. XI

The woman stands on a platform outside Newgate prison. A guard stands on either side of her. The executioner adjusts the noose.

The sky above is gray and cloudy and casts a murky light upon the scene, casts everything the color of ashes. Casts a silver, unheavenly resplendence upon the woman that mutes the shine of her eyes and shadows the hollows of her cheeks.

A crowd is gathered around the platform. They are loud and jeering, waving their arms in the air, shouting insults and curses and taunts.

The man is among the crowd. The man is still and silent. His arms grip a clothed bundle.

The woman steps up to the noose and the executioner fits the loop around her neck. He asks if she would like to say any last words, but his voice is drowned out by the noisy crowd. The woman shifts her eyes about the gathered townsfolk until they find the man.

Their eyes meet.

She smiles at him. Mouths, 'I love you.'

The man is pale. The man is silent.

The executioner springs the lever. The door beneath her feet drops and she plummets out of sight and the man looks away, walks away, pushing through the crowd until he is surrounded by only empty air, walking away from everything.

The clothed bundle in his arms wiggles and emits a soft cry.

The man keeps walking, but he parts the fabric and brushes his fingers against the baby's cheek.

* * *

**A/N:** -covers face- Please don't hate me . . .

Anyway, yes. That's the end. I'm a lot sadder about this story ending than I thought I would be. It's been a fun journey, dear readers. ^^

I again want to give a humongous thank you to Robynne for betaing this fic. From encouragements to critiques to virtual shoulder pats, she makes me a better writer in every way.

Also an equally humongous thank you to my other loyal beta, Morgan. She is always there when I need an ego boost, an ego check, or an extended analysis of knees and sniffles and smirks.

And finally a just as humongous thank you to every single one of the readers of this story. I often like to lament that the ST fandom is not nearly as large as it once was. While that's definitely true, you all have proved to me that though the fandom has certainly shrunk, it's still going strong. I thought I'd be lucky to get a thousand hits and twenty, maybe thirty reviews total for this story. Instead I received well over 2,500 hits and seventy-five reviews. You guys rock. Seriously.

And I do believe that I've babbled more than enough by now. ^^; Thank you again.


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